


When Your Eyes Are All Painted Sinatra Blue

by CloudAtlas



Series: A Safety In The End [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bisexuality, Coming Out, Confessions, F/M, Friendship, Multi, POV Bucky Barnes, Threesome - F/M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-01 02:46:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13988838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudAtlas/pseuds/CloudAtlas
Summary: Bucky has some confessions to make to Steve.





	When Your Eyes Are All Painted Sinatra Blue

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to **inkvoices** for beta once again. Title from [Bon Iver's The Wolves (Act I & II)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z9lrVZdaluk). Takes place about a week after And I Could See For Miles, Miles, Miles.
> 
>  **ETA Dec 2018:** This fic has now been Ameripicked by the wonderful **meatball42**.  <3

“Um.”

Bucky fidgets slightly under Steve’s worried eyes before abruptly reminding himself that this was entirely his own idea and that he should really calm the fuck down.

It doesn’t work that well.

“Are you – are you okay? Your folks okay?”

Steve is all clasped hands and earnest eyes, leaning forward in his seat. It’s an image so familiar to Bucky that he can paint over it with at least a hundred others from over the years. From when they were both teenagers; from when Bucky was on leave from the Army; from when Bucky was living with Steve and Peggy, quiet nights interrupted by dreams of sand and blood.

No matter how he tries though, Steve can’t hide the worried tilt to his shoulders, the way he hunches in ever so slightly, as if bracing for bad news.

Bucky really shouldn’t start conversations with the phrase ‘we need to talk’. Literally nothing good follows that phrase.

“Yeah,” he replies, a little too quickly. “Yeah, we’re all – we’re all fine. It’s not – ” He’s not sure how to end that sentence though, so it just hangs there before, defeated, he finishes with a lame, “Bad.”

People also only ever say ‘it’s not bad’ when it is, in fact, bad. Steve looks unconvinced.

Bucky is categorically terrible at this.

“No, it’s – I swear, we’re fine. _I’m_ fine. I just – ”

He cuts himself off again, unsure of how to continue.

Beside Steve, Peggy shifts slightly, reminding Bucky of her presence. She looks more at ease than Steve, but then she always does. Bucky can read Steve like a book, his feelings practically neon signs to be read by anyone who cares to look. Peggy’s more controlled, less easy to read, rarely revealing anything she doesn’t want people to know.

She looks concerned too but, unlike Steve, she also looks willing to wait him out.

“I just.” He’s repeating himself. This is just painful. “I’ve got something I want to tell you.”

Steve’s practically radiating quiet concern, his face open and encouraging. It’s slightly disconcerting as an expression, because it’s a recently new one. Bucky’s sure Steve breaks it out for his kids at school, but it’s only ever been directed at Bucky since he came back from Iraq. Before that they approached feelings in much the same way they would approach ripping off a Band Aid: blurting stuff out accompanied by swearing before immediately pretending neither thing had happened at all.

Bucky wonders if teaching and war changed that, or if this is just part of growing up.

It was probably teaching and war. Bucky knows some very, _very_ emotionally stunted adults. Or at least he knows Tony Stark. Sort of.

“I.” He looks away from Steve’s face. It’s always easier if he’s not looking at anyone. “I’m bisexual.”

He hears a huge drawn out breath and looks up quickly to see the tension slough off Steve like silk.

“Jesus, Buck,” Steve says, running a hand over his face. “You really – you really had me worried for a moment there.”

Bucky shrugs, fiddling with the cuff of his sweater. He’s not sure if saying that out loud to Steve and Peggy made him feel better, or lighter, or anything at all. He could probably only get the words out because they’re no longer the most terrifying thing he has to tell them.

He is getting so drunk with Wanda tonight. Jesus.

“Though…” Steve looks apologetic. “I, um. I already knew that?”

A short laugh is startled out of Bucky and he can see Peggy sending her husband a fond look.

“I know that, Stevie,” he says, smiling slightly and looking away again. “But this is me _telling_ you.”

Bucky looks over to Peggy. She gives him an understanding smile, but she doesn’t say anything. She’s like that though; only speaking when she has something to say. When he got back from Iraq it was comforting. Peggy could get him to do stuff when no one else could. It’s probably why Steve developed his ‘you can talk to me’ face; must feel like a bit of a betrayal when your best friend responds better to your wife than to you.

When Bucky looks back at Steve it’s just in time to see realisation steal over his face; the important distinction between _him telling_ and _them knowing_. Intellectually, Bucky always knew Steve would be fine with him being bi. If he hadn’t thought that he’d have actively hidden the fact after all. But it’s nice to have the confirmation all the same.

“Okay, Buck,” Steve says eventually. His smile is soft and it makes something in the vicinity of Bucky’s chest ache. “Thanks for telling me. For telling _us_.”

There’s a beat of silence where Bucky can tell that Steve is gearing up to say something along the lines of ‘so that’s it?’ and Bucky has no idea how to say the ‘not even remotely’ needed to make him stay. Panic suddenly courses through his veins. Right now he’s not sure if he can even open his mouth.

“That’s not what you wanted to tell us though.”

Peggy’s voice is steady and quiet, not pressing, not even urging Bucky to speak. She says it simply as a means to keep Steve in his seat, to make sure he doesn’t try to leave before Bucky’s said his piece, however long that takes.

Once again, Bucky is phenomenally grateful that it was _Peggy_ that Steve married.

“Um,” he says, his heart in his throat. “I – no. It’s – no.”

Bucky presses his sweaty palms to his thighs in an attempt to steady himself.

Peggy gives him another encouraging smile, as though she has any idea what he’s about to say. Steve looks concerned again, but he also looks way more relaxed than before so that’s… good? Right?

“I’ve met… someone.” And then, because Bucky doesn’t know how to explain that he’s actually met _two_ someones, he just tacks on an ‘s’ to the word and hisses it out like a loser.

Once the words are out, he can’t bring himself to look at either Steve or Peggy, so instead he fixes his gaze on where Peggy’s hand is tucked inside of Steve’s. Steve holds her hand so gently in his, her beautifully painted dark red nails in stark contrast to their pale skin. He wonders when they started holding hands and realises Peggy probably instigated it as another way to keep Steve in his seat.

“You’ve met some _ones_?”

Steve’s confused question breaks him out of his musings, and he drags his gaze away from their joined hands to find Steve looking politely puzzled and Peggy looking shocked. Bucky’s pretty sure that means that, once again, Peggy’s worked everything out before Steve.

“Um.” Bucky wishes he could stop saying ‘um’. “Yes.”

There’s another silence and this time Bucky has to physically restrain himself from just fleeing the room. He doesn’t know what this silence _means_. What if… what if Steve is disgusted? What if Peggy throws him out? What if they never want to speak to him again? Oh God.

He hears an inhalation and knows that this is Steve gearing up to Confront Feelings And Deal With This Like An Adult and, really, that noise has never heralded anything good in Bucky’s experience so he kind of wishes he could just skip this part. Though to be honest, he wishes he could skip _all_ of this and fast forward straight to the part where everyone knows and is cool with it.

But it’s Peggy who speaks.

“I think clarification is needed,” she says, quiet and firm, and Steve deflates so visibly Bucky has to fight a nervous giggle. Panic buzzes under his skin because that was Peggy’s Lecturer Voice, which means Bucky is going to have to _answer questions_ and – actually, maybe that’s better. He can just answer what Peggy asks and not look at Steve at all and… yes. Yes, okay.

He nods jerkily.

“When you say you’ve ‘met someones’,” Peggy starts, and Bucky can hear the quotation marks, “does that mean you’ve met two different people and you like both and don’t know how to choose between them, or that you’ve met two people you like and want to continue seeing each of them without the other knowing, or that you’ve met two people who know about each other and are… okay with that arrangement?”

Anyone who didn’t know her well could almost mistake her tone for dispassionate, but Bucky can hear a note of strain that means she’s very carefully moderating her responses so she doesn’t react before knowing all the facts. She’s used it on him a lot, mostly after he returned from Iraq and would fly off the handle at really stupid shit because he just _couldn’t cope_. Bucky had really hoped to never hear that tone again.

“Um,” he says. “Option. Option, uh, C.”

He rubs his palms against his jeans again, avoiding everyone’s eyes.

There’s a long silence before Bucky decides to simply attempt throwing caution to the wind. This is, he forcibly tells himself, not as terrifying as that split second silence between the light and noise of an IED explosion. It’s not as terrifying as telling your arm to move and finding it won’t. It’s not as terrifying as seeing your teammate’s chest completely still and knowing _that will never change_ ; that he will never move, or breathe, or do anything ever again. Bucky has done many things scarier than this in his life.

“Um.”

He shoots a quick glance at Steve. Whose face is a mask but whose eyes convey shock and confusion, and something very close to that look you get when your world has been tipped upside down and you no longer know what to think. Bucky’s heart clenches and he looks away again, to where his hands are obsessively fiddling with the hem of his sweater.

“Remember – remember I went to that party? For Stark Industries? They’d finalised that deal with SHIELD Security, for cybersecurity and – and other things. And. And Tony Stark had this big party.”

He risks another glance at Steve, and then Peggy. Steve nods jerkily. Peggy gives him a small smile, encouraging him to continue.

“Right. So. I was – I was there, talking to… some people. Colonel Rhodes, but – you don’t. You don’t know who that is? Um.”

“We know who Colonel Rhodes is, James,” Peggy says gently. And. Of course they do, he’s always on the news. Plus, Steve and Peggy aren’t idiots.

“Right. Yes. Obviously.” Bucky takes a deep breath. “So. I was… talking and then. This, this woman comes up, right? And she’s…” Gorgeous. Stunning. By far the most attractive woman Bucky’s ever seen in person. “She’s beautiful. And obviously flirting. With me.”

Bucky catches a quick smile flit over Steve’s face and suddenly Bucky’s shoulders relax. This is… odd, yeah. Unusual. But it’s still a story of how Bucky can charm the pants of anyone he puts his mind too. They all know those stories. Bucky knows how to tell those stories.

“Obviously, right?” he continues with a quick grin. “I mean, who wouldn’t.”

Peggy snorts out a laugh and Steve smiles again.

“And I’m wearing that black suit you so approve of” – Bucky directs this remark to Peggy – “and she’s in this deep blue gown, and we look pretty fucking good and she’s, like, _smirking_ , all red lipstick and perfect makeup and I think, you know, I’m in, right? She’s hot and I’m hot and I have my own place now so can invite people over, right?”

Both Steve and Peggy laugh softly at that. Once – just _once_ – Bucky’d brought a girl back to their place when he still lived with them, and she had been loud and Steve couldn’t look at her without blushing when he bumped into her the next morning, and Peggy’d had talked extra loud just to watch him wince through his hangover, grinning the whole time. It’d been _mortifying_ and Peggy has never let him forget.

“So we leave. Get a taxi. And she’s – _distracting_ , so I’m not paying attention to where we’re going. She’s a fucking great kisser. So we’re making out like teenagers in the back of this taxi and then she just pushes me away and says…”

Bucky stops. Trails off. Because it’s still so weird. He’s never asked Natasha what she’d seen in him that meant she felt she could ask this question.

“She asked if I’d ever had a threesome,” Bucky continues, quieter, and he can feel the shift; in his tone, in the mood. “If I liked guys. If I’d… be interested.”

They’re silent for a moment. A car horn blares. Mr Adams from next door decides this is a great time to start yelling at someone on the street from his window.

“And you said yes,” Steve says, obviously not a question.

Bucky shrugs. Meets his eyes, looks away, and then meets his eyes again. “She showed me a photo. He was really hot.”

Steve’s mouth works for a moment. Then he asks, “What’re their names?”

“Natasha,” Bucky answers with a smile. “And Clint.”

Peggy makes a choked off sound, like she’s trying very hard to stay quiet, and when Bucky looks over at her she’s covering her mouth with her hands, her eyes bright and full of mirth.

“Sorry!” she says quickly, managing to stop the anxiety crashing into Bucky’s ribs almost before it forms. “It’s just – ” her smile is so huge it’s almost scary “ – you met someone at a _work function_ who invited you back to her place for a threesome. _Months_ ago. And now you’re seeing them both. That’s – ” she laughs delightedly “ – that’s some Grade A porn shit right there, James.”

Steve makes a strangled sound somewhere between an aborted laugh and an anguished cry. Bucky blushes so hard he’s worried his eyebrows will catch fire.

“It is!” She cackles. Like a _witch_. “Oh God, James. You’re my favourite. This is amazing.”

Bucky can feel something akin to resentment bubbling up. He’s… he’s baring his fucking soul and Peggy’s _laughing_ at him. He tries to hide it, but it must show on his face because almost immediately Peggy reaches for him saying, “No darling, don’t worry. I don’t mean it _badly_.”

She gets up to sit next to him, perching in the three centimetres of free space the armchair provides and wrapping her arms around him to trap his arms. It shouldn’t make him feel better, but it does. He mock scowls though and goes boneless, flopping onto her like a dead fish.

“Fucking baring my soul and you _laugh_ ,” he grumbles playfully. “You’re a bitch, Carter.”

“But you must understand, darling,” she says, giving him a quick squeeze. “Steve and I are incredibly boring. We must live vicariously through you. And _you_ have a girlfriend _and_ a boyfriend now. It’s all terribly exciting.”

Bucky grumbles, casting a glance in Steve’s direction. He looks less tense now, more like he’s found solid footing. He’s also smiling over at them. Probably mainly at Peggy, but Bucky is weak so he takes some of that smile for himself too.

“Now.” Peggy lets him go and shuffles a little, nudging him over in his chair until they’re both squashed together on the seat. She looks over at him, all wide-eyed, with her hands clasped in her lap. Over exaggerated, like this is a fourteen-year-old’s slumber party on the Disney Channel and they’re talking about a cute guy in the grade above. “Tell me about them. What are they like?”

“Well…” He glances quickly over at Steve again, who gives him an encouraging smile. “Um, Natasha works for SHIELD. Buying or Acquisitions or… something. I’m not really sure. And Clint owns a bar near Bed-Nost.”

“They live in Brooklyn?” Steve asks, because if there’s an easy way to endear yourself to Steve Rogers it’s to be from Brooklyn.

“Clint lives in Brooklyn. Natasha lives in Hell’s Kitchen.”

Steve frowns. “They don’t… live together?”

Bucky frowns in return. “Should they?”

“I’m not – it’s just – ” Steve flounders for a moment. “I just figured you’d have to be in a pretty stable relationship to invite other people into it? And so it’d be more likely that they’d be living together?”

“Oh.” Yeah, that’s not an unreasonable assumption, but, “They don’t have that kind of relationship,” Bucky explains.

“Oh?” Steve is all polite confusion.

“Um.” Now it’s Bucky’s turn to flounder. For some reason, this part of his… relationship wasn’t one he thought he’d have to explain today. “They have an open relationship?”

Another long silence.

“Wow, okay,” Peggy says suddenly, clapping both her hands against her thighs in a gesture Bucky has never seen anyone else use but Peggy insists is really common in the UK. “This is a proper conversational rollercoaster right here.”

She gets up and sits back down next to Steve, presumably so she can see Bucky better but he misses her warmth almost immediately.

“Okay. When you say ‘they have an open relationship’ do you mean that they do but you don’t, or that _you all_ do?”

Bucky opens his mouth, reconsiders, and closes it again. He takes a breath and then just says, “I feel like I’m being interrogated,” and immediately regrets it because he’s met people who’ve actually been interrogated and… nope.

“We can let Steve take over if you like,” Peggy says, and Bucky looks at Steve quickly enough to see the naked alarm that flashes across his face. Steve is terrible at expressing emotions that aren’t positive.

“No,” Bucky says, resigned. “No, continue.” Then, on a whim, he reaches over to pat Steve on the knee. “Sorry buddy.”

“Not your fault,” Steve says, his voice hoarse. Poor guy, he must be feeling so out of his depth. Bucky knows how he feels; it was exactly how he felt about two months ago.

“Okay,” Bucky says. “Okay, it’s – They – oh my God.” He drops his head into his hands. “This is the weirdest fucking thing I’ve ever fucking done.”

There’s another pause and then Steve says, “It is pretty strange, yeah.”

“No,” Bucky says, looking up. “ _This_.” He waves his hand in the space between them. “ _This_ is weird. Telling you is weird. Being there? With them? That doesn’t feel weird, not really. That just feels… right.”

And now, for the first time since this conversation started, Steve looks properly shocked.

“It’s like this,” Bucky continues, “I met these two people, and they’re great, and they’re okay with the weird hang ups my brain throws at me. And they were together before they met me, and they’re the kind of people that invite other people to have threesomes. So yeah, they have an open relationship. I, mostly, don’t. I don’t mind that they do. It doesn’t bother me. Maybe it will one day, but it doesn’t now. It’s not… lopsided, or exploitative, or anything like that. It’s just… not. Everyone’s bringing some stupid fucking weird sex-slash-love thing to here that we all have to work around and it’s going okay. It’s… it’s going okay.”

Bucky pulls at his sleeves, fiddles with the seam of his jeans, avoids everyone’s eyes.

“I’m happy,” he says quietly, eventually. Because _he is_.

“What – ” Steve starts, sounding confused, just as Peggy says, “Who used the words ‘lopsided’ and ‘exploitative’, James?”

Steve snaps his mouth shut.

Bucky just wishes someone would acknowledge the fact that he just said he was _fucking happy_.

“Becca,” he says, shortly. He loves his younger sister, but that had really pissed him off. Like he wasn’t capable of recognising stuff like that, like that wasn’t something Clint and Natasha and he would have talked about. Like they’d be that callous. It’s slightly unfair of him, he knows, because it’s not like Becca knows Clint or Natasha. She wouldn’t know that they’re not like that. But still.

“Becca knows?” Steve asks.

Bucky nods. “Becca and Wanda and Viz.” And then, because he feels it needs a little more explanation, he continues, “Becca found out last weekend. She gave me two weeks to tell you two before she started dropping hints.” Because Becca is a little shit who knows him too well.

“Ruth and Kat?” Steve asks, and Bucky shakes his head. “Your folks?” He shakes his head again.

This conversation has been populated with more silences than any conversation they’ve had since… he’s not sure. He’d like to say since he moved out of this house and into his own place in Queens, but he’s not sure that any of the conversations they had while he lived here were _this_ full of silence. Normally, if Bucky doesn’t want to talk Steve or Peggy just leave him alone. This conversation has _kept going_.

Suddenly, Steve’s hand is on his knee. “I’m glad you’re happy, Buck,” he says quietly.

Bucky looks up to find Steve’s face full of the most heartbreakingly honest expression; Steve’s not entirely comfortable, but he is genuinely happy for him. Bucky’s heart lurches in his chest and he has to fight back the tears that want to well up.

“Thanks,” he chokes out.

“Oh Buck,” Steve says, still quiet. “I’m sorry if we ever made you feel like you couldn’t tell us things like this.” And then Bucky finds himself enveloped in a patented Steve Rogers Hug that he can’t help but melt into, fisting his hands in the back of Steve’s sky blue sweater.

Steve lets go eventually and Bucky pulls away, brushing his hands over his eyes and ignoring the way Steve is kneeling next to his chair because nothing good comes from thinking about that too hard.

“What,” he asks Steve eventually, “Were you gonna ask?”

“Huh?”

“When – when Peggy asked about, um, ‘lopsided’ and – and stuff. You were gonna ask something too.”

Steve looks confused for a moment, but then his expression clears. He sits back down on the couch and that helps Bucky way more that it really should.

“Oh, it’s – it’s not that important. I was just… it’s weird to me, to think of Bucky Barnes as having any weird ‘sex-slash-love’ things.” Steve makes fucking finger quotes, because he’s a beautiful dork, and his jokey smile is small but genuine. It’s so familiar to Bucky that he returns it almost automatically. “I don’t… I don’t like to think that, that the Army or, or Iraq or anything has made you… uncomfortable with, with something you’re – ” Steve flails a little, clearly unable to articulate what he wants to say “ – good at,” he finishes with an embarrassed shrug.

“Ladies man Bucky Barnes,” Steve continues with a small smile. “Or, I guess, both? Man’s man? That – that doesn’t mean the same thing. This is…” he trails off, then: “Player!” he exclaims, pleased with himself, before, “Wait no, that’s not really complementary, is it?” He frowns. “Or is it? I – I don’t know. My kids use it.”

Peggy says something in reply, probably telling Steve that, no, player isn’t really complementary and, really, what the hell are his kids doing talking like that, they’re like _twelve_ , but Bucky doesn’t hear her, because he’s stuck on Steve. Beautiful, oblivious Steve, who thinks its _Iraq_ that messed with Bucky’s relationships, that an IED is the reason they never really worked out. Who doesn’t fucking realise that it’s _him._ It’s always been him.

In a sudden, hallucinatory moment Bucky can see himself opening his mouth and saying, no Steve, no. Saying, how have you never noticed. Saying, I love you, you fucking meatball. Bucky can _see_ it play out. And now he knows the exact face Steve’ll make, because he made it not five minutes ago when Bucky told him, no, being with Clint and Natasha feels completely normal. Shocked and confused and out of his depth because these things are just so far out of Steve’s understanding that they just stop his brain for a second.

He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but he’s horrified to find that the only words that want to claw their way out are ‘I love you’ and he can’t, _he can’t_.

Bucky’s been quiet for just long enough that Steve and Peggy are staring at him in concern and he can feel the silence stretch, thin and elastic and gearing up to snap back and that’ll hurt, it’ll _hurt_ , but ‘I love you’ is suddenly the only thing rattling around in his now-empty brain. He sends a panicked look at Peggy, silently begging her to say something, _anything_. To makes Bucky _stop_ , because Peggy should be able to guess and therefore can _stop this_ but she’s not getting it, _she’s not getting it_. His palms are sweaty and he can feel his heartbeat hammering against his ribs and he feels clammy and on the edge of a fucking cliff and this is the one fucking moment her freaky almost-mindreading would be _fucking perfect_ but she’s not getting it she’s not getting it Peggy c’mon please _please –_

“Bucky are you – ?”

“I love you,” he blurts out.

Bucky immediately claps his hands over his mouth, so horrified his eyes fill with tears and he wants to run – somewhere, _anywhere_ , just to not be here anymore with Steve’s enormous, shocked eyes and Peggy’s dumbfounded expression. He whines, high and cut off almost immediately, and folds himself up small, face pressed into his knees, almost hyperventilating.

This was not supposed to happen. This was _never_ supposed to happen.

Bucky had always wondered about this feeling, this love he carried around with him. Because it had become easier to bear, over time; it had to. As he told Clint and Natasha, it’s not sustainable, but he’d always wondered: had it faded like a photograph, getting fainter and fainter in a way that meant that he’d eventually never get it back? Or had it faded like a monument in the rearview mirror, and he could drive back to find it was always there, always as big and completely unchanged? That it was only the distance that made it seem small and manageable?

Bucky knows definitively now that it’s the latter, because here it all is; all that feeling, like he’s fifteen again. It’s crushing his chest and making it hard to breathe. And now _Steve knows_.

Over his own panicked breath he hears Steve choke out a quiet and incredulous “ _What_?” followed by a plaintive, “Peggy?”

There’s a heavy silence and then he hears the rustle of material before a hand lands gently on his back. Bucky flinches so hard he hits his nose against his knee but he doesn’t look up.

“It’s only me,” Peggy says quietly, and Bucky feels her sitting down beside him where she’d been earlier, perched once again in the tiny amount of free space Bucky’s armchair has to offer.

“You’re okay,” she says, wrapping her arm around his back and leaning over until her cheek is pressed against his shoulder blade. “You’re okay, it’s alright.”

“ _Peggy_ ,” he breathes out desperately into the denim covering his knees.

“I know, darling.” She’s so warm and solid. “I know.”

He tries to hold out, but he can’t and a single, wracking sob tears its way out of his throat. His jeans are damp from tears and warm, panicked breath. His legs are shaking and his hands tremble. He still doesn’t look up.

“Did you know?” Steve asks, low, and he sounds so hurt and confused and out of his depth it makes Bucky feel even worse. Bucky wraps his arms around his head. It muffles the sound more.

Bucky feels Peggy breathe out against his collar.

“Steve, darling,” she says, her voice so gentle. “Everyone knows.”

Bucky knows this is true. Because Becca had asked, “What about Steve?” when he’d explained about his relationship, and Clint and Natasha hadn’t been surprised when he’d told them about Steve, and Ruth had found him in an empty room, two minutes to go before _Steve got fucking married,_ and had hugged him so hard and asked him if he was alright, and his mom had the most understanding lilt to her voice when she’d managed to get through to him on an Army base in fucking Iraq to tell him, “I’ve just got a wedding invitation from Steve in the mail, honey.”

Peggy had told him that she’d guessed within two hours of meeting him. Tim, Gabby, and Jim said they guessed within a week of the four of them being teamed up. Apparently Bucky is obvious as fuck to everyone who isn’t Steven Grant Rogers.

“Steve,” Peggy continues, all measured calm. “Could you give us a moment please? Go to – walk to Hearth and buy some cinnamon buns. Please?”

There’s more silence then, but Bucky can tell Steve hasn’t left yet. It’s the kind of silence that means Steve is floundering, wanting to say something but not knowing what. He hears feet against carpet, footsteps stopping just to Bucky’s right, and he screws his eyes shut tight so he can’t accidentally see Steve’s feet out of the corner of his eye.

The footsteps move away. There’s the sound of shoes being put on, of keys being picked up, of Steve pausing for a moment.

The door clicks shut.

Bucky lets out another wracking sob and, in a flash, Peggy’s slipped off the chair, kneeling in front of him and tugging on his sweater until he slides off the chair and into her lap, straddling her thighs so he can wrap his arms around her shoulders and sob into her collar.

“Shhh.” Peggy rubs her hands up and down his back, metronome-even. “It’s alright. You’re alright, James; you’re alright.”

What’s even sadder is, this is not the first time that Bucky’s cried on Peggy like this, knees locked so he doesn’t crush her. Yeah, maybe the subject isn’t the same, but it still happened. Fucking Iraq. Fucking IEDs.

Bucky is so glad Steve met Peggy. _So glad_.

It still takes him about ten minutes to calm down, even though Steve is no longer there. He feels sweaty and too hot, and his knees hurt thanks to the tension of keeping them pressed to his face earlier and from trying not to crush Peggy now. In fact, almost everywhere hurts from holding the same position too tight for too long. He relaxes his fingers, letting go of the back of Peggy’s shirt and stretching his hands out. He then leans back, rubbing his hands over his eyes before realising that all his weight is now on Peggy’s knees, which must fucking hurt.

He pushes against the armchair until it moves back and slides off her lap and onto the floor. Peggy rests one of her hands on his thigh. Bucky rubs his hands over his face again.

“Sorry,” he mutters, staring at the contrast between his blue jeans and her dark red nails.

“Don’t apologise for who you love, James,” Peggy replies.

Bucky got over his irrational anger towards Peggy for getting everything Bucky himself wanted a while ago. He had to, both because he was living in her house and also because that too was unsustainable. The closest he gets these days is this: the sad, tender bruise of them both acknowledging that, if this were a competition, Peggy had won. But it was never a competition, Steve isn’t a prize to be won, and it’s no one’s fault that Steve doesn’t also like men, least of all Peggy’s. So instead he smiles at her, managing to hold her gaze for a brief moment before returning to stare at her hand on his leg.

“That wasn’t supposed to happen, was it?” Peggy asks, a smile hidden between the syllables.

“Not in a million years,” Bucky agrees.

There’s another small silence, though this one feels less claustrophobic.

“Does it – does it feel easier now?”

Bucky looks up at her. “I’ll let you know after I’ve seen him again.”

She smiles and he looks away once more.

He wants to know how Steve took it: has a desperate need to know that Steve doesn’t hate him, that he isn’t repulsed by the thought of Bucky being in love with him. But he’s not sure how to phrase that question, so he doesn’t say anything.

Gentle fingers touch his jaw.

“He’s not going to hate you, James.” That drags his gaze back, his heart rabbiting in his chest. _Now_ Peggy’s mindreading skills kick in. Typical. “I promise.”

Bucky gives her a watery smile.

“C’mon,” she says, slapping her palms against his thighs and making him jump. “Let’s stop sitting on the floor like a couple of college slackers.”

She clambers to her feet and then leans down to take both his hands into hers and hauls him to his feet.

“Everything is going to be fine,” she says decisively, giving him a swift hug. “You’re going to have a coffee, I’m going to have a tea, and at some point Steve will come back with cinnamon buns – ” Bucky’s not sure he wants to see Steve until he feels steadier, but Peggy just carries on, “ – and it will be _fine_.” She drags him into the kitchen and pushes him down onto one of the kitchen chairs. “And while I do that, I want you to tell me all about your new partners. Go.”

She points finger guns at him, like a dork. Fuck but Peggy and Steve were made for each other. Bucky can’t help but laugh.

So he tells her about Slings & Arrows, and the time they got caught in the rain coming back from Prospect Park, and the two of them sending him naked photos while he was with his family last weekend – which has her in stitches because Peggy, unlike Steve, enjoys the hell out of raunchy stories. Steve, without fail, just stutters and turns red, which is probably half the reason why Peggy loves them so much. Bucky knows that’s why _he_ loves telling stupid-ass sex stories.

“Oh, does that mean you have photos?”

“I’m not showing you photos of Clint and Natasha naked!” Bucky all but yells, though he knows for a fact that neither of them would have slightest problem with that.

“No, you idiot,” Peggy shoots back with a laugh. “Just a regular photo. What the fuck do I want to see some random guy’s dick for?”

“Shut up,” Bucky grumbles, because, in retrospect, of course Peggy was asking for a regular photo. “It’s a nice dick.”

Peggy cackles and smacks him upside the head.

“ _Witch_ ,” Bucky play-hisses, grabbing for her leg in an attempt to push her off-balance, but Peggy just dances away, laughing. “Here.”

He holds out his phone to her.

The photo is of Clint and Natasha from two nights ago, Natasha leaning against Clint and listening as he explains something about Miles Davis. Bucky had gone over midweek because Clint was working an early shift which meant he’d be free from seven, and Bucky had known he’d either have to see them then or wait until _after_ telling Steve and Peggy, and he’d needed reassurance. Clint had cooked lasagne and they’d drunk fancy red wine Natasha had bought, and they’d ended up vegging out on the couch listening to Clint’s extensive collection of classic soul and jazz vinyl because apparently Clint Barton is a fucking hipster.

“And if I swiped through?” Peggy says impishly.

“Please don’t.” Going backwards will lead straight into a long run of photos of Clint and Natasha having sex outside. Well, after the photo reminding him of a book he wants to try. Bucky suddenly understands why both Clint and Natasha insist on organising their photos into folders.

Peggy stares at his phone for a moment, a small smile on her face and her head tipped to one side. Bucky sips his coffee, trying not to watch for her reaction.

“They look nice,” she says eventually, handing him his phone back. “And you’re right, it is a nice dick.”

“Oh my _God_ , Peggy!” Bucky yells, dumping his coffee on the table in favour of lunging at her and tackling her around the waist. “You absolute fucking witch! What the _fuck_?” Peggy’s cackling again – and Bucky had literally never met anyone who _cackled_ before he met Peggy, but she just _does_ – as she pushes ineffectually against his arms and tries to stay on her feet. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Oh my God, James. I didn’t actually _look_ ,” she laughs. “I just wanted to see what you’d – ah!”

Bucky digs his fingers into her waist and she squirms away. Peggy is hilariously ticklish.

“Okay! Okay! I give! Uncle! _Uncle!_ ”

Bucky lets her go with one last poke to the side.

“You’re a deeply unpleasant person,” he grumbles, picking up his coffee again. “I hope you know that.”

“Pssh.” Peggy dismisses the statement with a wave of her hand before straightening her shirt and grinning at him widely. “I’m a delight.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and sits back down, picking up his coffee again while Peggy leans against the counter with her tea. She stares at him over the rim of her mug, her eyes searching.

“Are you okay?” she asks after a beat of silence.

“Yeah?” he replies, startled. ‘Cause, sure, he was a mess not fifteen minutes ago, but he’s okay now. Maybe he does feel lighter or something now. “Why’d you ask?”

“I dunno,” comes the reply. “I just figure… I mean, that must have been unexpected, right? Very few people go out of their way to find themselves a polyamorous relationship. And you’re – no offence, but you’ve never struck me as being… _comfortable_ with…”

Peggy trails off, uncharacteristically inarticulate.

“My sexuality?” Bucky finishes for her, self-deprecating.

“Well, yeah.”

Bucky shrugs. He knows he shouldn’t be, that this literally happens to people _all the time_ , but he’s still slightly embarrassed that he’s only getting comfortable with who he is _now_. That it’s taken him until he’s thirty before he even _realised_ these things about himself.

“I freaked out for three weeks straight after it happened,” he offers. “That was fun.”

“What happened?” Peggy moves to sit with him at the table.

“We had… we had breakfast and Clint just – he just invited me back. Over fucking _pancakes_ I’d made in someone else’s kitchen because I needed something to do with my hands. And Natasha looked surprised, but she…” He waves his hand vaguely. “And I wanted to. I _wanted_. And they wanted and that was…”

He trails off and Peggy leans over to put her hand on his. Her expression is open and understanding, telling Bucky without words that she understands what he feels he can’t really say to her. That it was different because he wanted someone who wanted him back and, after years and years of unrequited feelings for Steve, that sensation was almost overwhelming.

“It was terrifying,” he admits in a quiet voice. “And it was all so new, all of it. So yeah, three weeks. Eventually Wanda and Viz forced me back and stopped me from just noping the fuck out of the bar as soon as I stepped inside. And then it was just… safe.”

“It took me about the same amount of time to muster the courage to ask Steve out,” she confesses with a smile. “‘Cause why’d he be interested in me, right?”

“And _he_ wasn’t gonna ask, was he? Meatball,” Bucky says with a snort, before looking at her with a smile. “Though if anyone is out of anyone’s league, you’re out of his. I dunno if you’ve noticed, but he’s sort of a tragic mess.”

Peggy laughs. “That he is.”

The doorbell rings.

“Bet you that’s Steve wanting to be polite and not interrupt anything.”

Now it’s Bucky’s turn to laugh, though his stomach suddenly lurches with renewed nerves. “Yeah, no bet.”

“Get in here, Rogers!” Peggy yells in the general direction of the door and if it’s not Steve, that’s going to be awkward.

But, of course, it is Steve. Bucky hears the door open and the shuffle of Steve removing his shoes and jacket, and whatever the hell else, before making his way to the kitchen. The smell of cinnamon announces his arrival and he stops in the doorway, gracing Peggy with a small smile before looking to Bucky.

“Hi,” Bucky manages, not quite brave enough to hold Steve’s gaze for too long.

“Hi, Buck,” Steve replies, his voice quiet. He places the bag of Hearth cinnamon buns on the table and then just stands awkwardly in the middle of the room. Bucky half expects Peggy to break the tension, but she seems to have decided to let them work this part out for themselves and is keeping quiet.

“Not a prank, then,” Steve says with an awkward smile, after a long silence Bucky didn’t know how to fill.

“No,” Bucky says quietly. “Sorry.”

Steve sighs heavily and runs both his hands over his face.

“Please don’t apologise, Buck,” he replies quietly. “It’s not…”

He looks down at his hands, broad palms and square nails. Bucky watches as he flexes them, once twice, before looking up again.

“How long?” he asks, looking up and away again almost immediately.

His voice is so low Bucky almost misses what he’d said, but Steve’s entire posture screams his discomfort so, even if the words hadn’t seared themselves into his brain, Bucky could have guessed the question.

Bucky’s not sure how to answer it though, because there’s probably at least a hundred answers. Since that time Steve passed him his first reefer aged eighteen and their fingers brushed and it was electric. Since they were sixteen and drunk on Bucky’s father’s shit beer in the basement of Bucky’s parent’s old house. Since he was fourteen and caught himself looking at Steve’s skinny legs sticking out from the bottom of his gym shorts. Since he was eleven and that shithead Billy O’Connor broke Steve’s nose and Bucky was so angry he actually scared himself. Since they were eight and Steve fell from the wall behind old Kirkpatrick’s shop and Bucky’s heart jumped in his chest because _what if he was really hurt?_

“Remember when you lost your ball in the bushes of Mrs Miller’s garden and instead of your ball we found that cat skull?”

Steve looks confused for a moment before his face morphs into an expression of quiet heartbreak.

“Buck, that was the day we met,” he says, hushed.

Bucky shrugs. “It’s as good an answer as any.”

“Jesus, Buck.” He runs his hands over his face again and then, cautiously, he asks, “Can I… can I give you a hug?”

Jesus, Bucky had no fucking hope, did he? He was always going to fall in love with this fucking dork.

“Yeah, buddy,” he says with a small smile, “I’d like that,” and he stands up into the strong arms of Steve Rogers.

Steve hugs with his whole body, disregarding all those social conventions that imply hugs between men should be three seconds long and comprise mostly of back slapping. Bucky has always found this equal parts comforting and frustrating.

“You know I… you know I love you, yeah?” Steve says into his sweater. “Just not…”

“Not like that?” Bucky says with a smile, pulling away. “Yeah, I know Steve.”

Steve looks somewhere between upset and disappointed in himself, like it’s his fault Bucky’s spent most of his life pining and he wants to fix it but he knows he can’t. Because he’s straight and also a fucking idiot.

“Cheer up, you fucker,” Bucky says with a small laugh, patting him on the jaw. “You look like I’ve killed your dog or something.”

The expression clears a little as Steve snorts. “If you’d killed my dog I’d be way more pissed off.”

“We’d have to have a dog for you to kill it,” Peggy cuts in. “But don’t take that as an invitation to go around killing other people’s dogs.”

“What about an invitation to buy you guys a dog?” Bucky asks.

“If we got a dog,” Steve says seriously, “you would never leave my house.”

Bucky can’t refute that statement.

“It’s _our_ house, darling,” Peggy says pointedly, finally reaching for the Hearth bag to pull out the cinnamon buns and handing Bucky one. “Jesus, how much did you buy?”

“Buck likes cinnamon!” Steve defends, gesturing over at Bucky who’s halfway through his bun already. He attempts to give her an innocent look, but it’s marred by the fact that he’s sticky with sugar.

“I _know_ that, Steven. But that doesn’t explain why you got ten of them.”

Steve makes a helpless gesture, like the reason should be obvious, and Peggy rolls her eyes before indicating that Steve should sit the fuck down already. She then hands him a bun.

Silence descends as they all get down to the important business of eating, but Bucky can practically feel Steve’s need to talk about everything; it’s radiating out of him so hard that Bucky can’t help but tense up. He flicks his gaze up to Peggy, but she’s either oblivious or studiously ignoring the growing tension in an attempt to get them to figure it out themselves. It’s something she’s very good at and something Bucky loves and hates about her equally. Loves, because it works and he knows it’s necessary; hates, because it fucking works and it’s fucking necessary.

“Stop making it weird,” Bucky eventually says, as mildly as he can manage. “You’re making it weird.”

Steve guppies like a moron. “I’m not – ”

Bucky has to smile at that, because sometimes Steve is just so _predictable_. “You really fucking are.”

“But you – ”

“I am well aware.”

“But it’s – ”

“Not really.”

“Would you just – ” Steve starts again, irritated.

“Nah,” Bucky says with a grin. “Who wants to listen to you talk anyway?”

“Oh my fucking God,” Steve exclaims, suddenly grabbing Bucky around the head with sticky fingers and all but pulling him off his chair in order to give him the biggest fucking noogie. “You are the _fucking worst_.”

Bucky laughs as he tries to break free. “I’m a delight,” he manages. “I’m a joy to be – fucking _ow_!”

He’s laughing helplessly now, squirming and pushing at Steve’s waist with one hand while trying to peel Steve’s arm from around his neck with the other. But Steve’s as immovable as a fucking tank and all that ends up happening is Steve smearing sticky fingers through his hair and all over his sweater before letting him go, laughing madly as he does.

“Fuck,” Bucky grouses, “now my hair’s all sticky.”

“Oh no,” Steve says, deadpan. “Not the hair.”

“Oh fuck off.” He runs his hands through his hair, grimacing at the sugar granules he can feel caught in the strands. Peggy smirks at him from the other side of the table and Bucky rolls his eyes in response.

The smile has slid off Steve’s face by the time Bucky looks back at him

“Buck – ”

“Steve,” Bucky cuts in, his tone more tired than before and hoping – _hoping_ – Steve will get that he just _does want to deal with this anymore_. “Seriously. Don’t make this weird. I’m the same guy as I was yesterday and, unless you’ve had a major personality and sexuality overhaul, so are you. This doesn’t change anything unless you make it happen.”

Steve stares at him for a moment, Bucky fighting not to fidget under his gaze. He then nods, short and sharp, before glancing at Peggy, and Bucky can tell than at soon as he leaves the house Steve is going to word vomit all over her because if he doesn’t talk soon he’ll burst.

Which probably means Bucky should leave now. He wouldn’t want to cause any inadvertent death-by-bottled-emotions after all. He’s just readying himself to make some polite excuse when Peggy speaks again.

“You should invite them over.”

Bucky blinks stupidly. “Who?”

“Your partners,” Peggy replies patiently. “Natasha and Clint?”

“Here?”

“Well, wherever they’re most comfortable.”

Bucky can’t help but snort at that. “Out of the five of us, I can guarantee that they will be the most comfortable in any situation.”

“Okay then. Here.” She nods like it’s decided. “You know our schedules, so whenever they’re free. Let me know as soon as possible. Steve’ll cook.”

“Oh I will, will I?” Steve sends Peggy a fond look, though he still looks mildly wrong-footed.

“Of course you will. Yours is the kind of cooking we can serve to guests.” She grins at him. Peggy hates cooking so simply fakes incompetence. Steve, the sap, pretends not to know this.

“Okay,” Bucky says after a moment. “Okay, yeah. I’ll ask.”

The idea is sort of terrifying, but also kind of nice. And having it happen at Steve and Peggy’s place will make him feel less stressed about the whole thing. It’ll probably make both Steve and Peggy more comfortable too. On the other hand, it might make Clint and Natasha _more_ prone to embarrassing him. He finds he’s strangely okay with this idea though.

“I think – I think I’m gonna go now though,” he continues.

A glance at the clock on the stove tells him it’s coming up to six and he can’t decide if he wants to drop in on Wanda now or just make his way over to Clint’s. Wanda will want to know how this whole day went, but Bucky sort of just wants to be aggressively cuddled by Natasha while Clint talks shit. He can always just see Wanda tomorrow.

“You can stay for dinner if you like,” Steve says, but Bucky shakes his head.

“Nah, it’s okay. I think I’m gonna head over to Bed-Stuy.”

“Alright,” Steve says softly.

Bucky’s almost out the door before Steve speaks again.

“Hey, Buck?”

“Yeah?” Bucky hides his apprehension as best he can.

“I just – ” Steve grasps his shoulder. “You know you’re my best friend, yeah? You’ll always be my best friend.”

Bucky can’t help the smile that breaks over his face. “Yeah, buddy. I know.”

Steve looks like he wants to say something more, but instead he just pulls Bucky into a tight hug before clapping him on the shoulder once more and waving him away. Bucky gives Peggy a hug as she hands him the remaining cinnamon buns, and with a wave and a quick goodbye Bucky’s out on the street, bathed in late afternoon Brooklyn sunshine.

He gets around the corner from Steve’s apartment block before the enormity of what’s just happened finally, _finally_ , hits him. It’s as if he’d suddenly run into a wall. Steve knew. _He knows_. He knows Bucky is bi and he knows Bucky is seeing two people and _he knows Bucky’s in love with him_.

Bucky sits down heavily on the steps of the first building he comes to.

He knows what panic attacks feel like. He knows what anxiety attacks feel like. He knows screaming nightmares and uncontrollable sobbing and PTSD induced flashbacks – something he thankfully has only had twice, and only when he’d just come back from Iraq.

This doesn’t feel like any of those things. This reminds him more of when he was eleven and had got trapped under some boxes in the closet of his parent’s house and panicked because he thought no one knew where to look for him. He hadn’t cried until his dad moved the first box, letting in the light; the feeling of _release_ so overwhelming his breath came out laced with tears.

He isn’t crying because he’s upset. He’s crying because he feels _lighter_.

“Hey buddy, are you alright?”

Bucky’s startled out of his gasping sobbing by a woman with a dog and a tote bag full of bottles, if the way she clinks is anything to go back.

“Oh yeah, I’m fine,” Bucky croaks out, meaning the words even though his voice implies otherwise.

“You sure?” the woman asks. “Because you don’t look it.”

“Oh no,” Bucky says, wiping a hand over his face and feeling unaccountably reckless, “I’m great. I just told my best friend that I’m bi and in an open relationship with two people and also that I’m in love with him.”

There’s a long silence. Bucky doesn’t bother looking up at the woman, too busy working back through what he just said and finding that actually, yes. Peggy was right. It is easier now.

“Shit,” the woman says eventually. “And I’m guessing he didn’t take it well?”

“Oh, no,” Bucky says flippantly, finally looking up at her properly. “It went really well actually.”

The woman stares at him, the dog shuffling around her feet.

“Here,” she says abruptly, clearly deciding he’s only a harmless weirdo and digging around in her bag for a bottle of beer. “I feel like you need this.”

“I have cinnamon buns,” Bucky says stupidly, gesturing to the Hearth bag sitting forlornly on the step next to him.

“And now you have beer,” the woman replies. “Can I get into the house now?”

“Shit, yeah. Sorry.” Bucky stumbles off the step, remembering the Hearth bag just in time, to let the woman reach the door. He gives the dog a quick scratch as it trots past.

“Hey,” the woman says, and Bucky can see the corridor stretch out behind her, the stairs at the end covered in blue tile. “I’m glad everything went okay.”

“Thanks,” Bucky replies, a little surprised. “And thanks for the beer.”

“No worries.” The woman smiles, and nods once, and shuts the door.

Bucky stares at the beer in his hand and then back up at the now-closed door. He then looks over at the park on the other side of the road. Maybe… maybe he’ll just… go over there. Sit in the largest patch of sunlight he can find and drink his beer and eat some more cinnamon buns and just… not think for a while. Let this feeling rush through him. Maybe cry some more, in public, like a weirdo. Then he can go to Clint’s.

Yeah. Yeah, he’s gonna do that.

Somehow, his steps feel lighter as he crosses the road.


End file.
